Page 12 of Heart, Haunt, Havoc
Colinreviewedthesurveillancefootage after eating an unfulfilling dinner—soggy Caesar salad, black-pepper chicken, and a lemon wedge. He picked iceberg lettuce from between his teeth and glanced out the guest bedroom window, watching frost spiderweb the shadowy glass.
Square boxes spanned his laptop screen. The timestamp ticked in the bottom corner, rolling forward through the previous night, into the morning, throughout the day. He watched the cameras fall from their perches—ripped out of their adjustable mounts and arranged throughout the house by invisible hands. In the top center square, the upstairs hallway was featured in grainy, greenish video, darkness shifting and bending until the recording switched from past to present. The fast-moving screen halted, and the timestamp slowed, seconds changing on the live feed.
Half-past midnight,he thought.A cushion for the witching hour.
Movement disrupted the calm screen. A door floated open. Bishop stepped out, swaying on their bare feet, and stepped into the hall. They tipped their face downward. Pulled at the webbing between their fingers and wrung their hands. Shuffled across the floor until they were positioned outside the bedroom.
Colin turned, watching Bishop’s shadow hover at the bottom of the door, and closed his laptop, setting it carefully on the nightstand. Heat swelled in his chest, in his gut,lower, and he reminded himself to collect his desire. To lock away the want needling his pelvis, the strange excitement attached to the potential of Bishop, someone distant and dishonest, someone abrasive and beautiful, visiting him in the night.
He slipped out of bed and adjusted the drawstring on his joggers. Grasped the handle and tugged it open, revealing Bishop, pupils blown, lips parted with surprise, lingering awkwardly in the doorway.
“You’re awake,” Colin rasped, and cleared his throat. “I—I saw you on the camera. I thought you might be sleep-walking again—”
Bishop blinked, startled. “Oh, no. I’m… Yeah, I’m up.” Their eyes scaled Colin’s naked chest and their slender throat worked around a swallow. “I brought you here to clean my house, because I can’t do it myself.”
Colin squared his shoulders. “That’s not uncommon. Most people don’t know how to deal with the paranormal, supernatural, peculiar—whatever you’d like to call it.”
“But some people do,” Bishop said.
He nodded curtly. “Some people do.”
The air thinned. Behind him, ice ghosted Colin’s spine. Breath, suddenly there. The rumbling, ethereal sound of a growl crackling into existence. Before he could turn and face the apparition, Bishop extended their arm and shoved him sideways, revealing a wolfish maw and sharp, wet teeth.
“De las tinieblas vienes, de las tinieblas te vas,” Bishop hissed. Their voice trembled, quickening on stunted breath. “Get out,” they snapped. Power burst from them. Unrestrained, volatilepower. Their eyes flared gold, pupils expanding outward over their sclera, and took a feline shape.
The wolf-man snarled and swung his arm in a sweeping arc. His palm cracked Bishop’s cheek. Before Colin could step between them, Bishop whipped toward the wolf-man and shouted, “Lincoln, enough! De las tinieblas vienes, de las tinieblas tevas!” Primal power burst from them. Gold strung from their mouth and splattered on their chin like blood, imbuing each word with purpose. They heaved in another breath. “Get out!”
Like a riptide, Bishop’s power, witchcraft,somethingyanked the wolf-man—Lincoln—into a different plane. Gold spun around his ankles, shaped like thread, and pulled him through the floor. His eyes widened and his jaw slackened, but all that was left of Lincoln Stone before he disappeared was the echo of Bishop’s name, spoken like an apology.
Bishop breathed heavily. They stared at the place where Lincoln had faded, flexing their hands into fists at their sides. When they wiped the strange, gold substance from their mouth, the back of their hand came away red. “Banishing spells only keep him away for a few hours. Sometimes a day if I’m lucky.”
Colin stood on a tripwire. His muscles locked, and his knuckles paled, and he hardly knew what to do now that two of Bishop’s secrets had collided before his eyes.
“You’re a witch,” he blurted, stupidly.
“Brujo,” Bishop corrected, and glanced over their shoulder. “But yeah, more or less.”
“Which is it—more or less?”
Their lips quirked halfway to a bitter smile. “More, I guess.”
Colin gave them a slow once over and narrowed his eyes. The truth turned Bishop jagged and severe, and he could not look away from them.
“This is the part where you explain what the fuck is going on,” he said, and met their fierce gaze. “In great detail.”
Bishop turned to face him. A sigh tumbled over their lips. They took a step, another, closing the small space between the two of them. “I will, but like I said, we only have a few hours.”
Heat blistered in Colin’s cheeks. “And?”
“And I’ve been trapped in a haunted house with the ghost of my ex-husband for six months.” They didn’t reach for his hand. Didn’t test a touch to his arm or lick their lips. Instead, Bishop grabbed the drawstring on Colin’s joggers like they’d done it a thousand times before, fingers secure on the smooth fabric, and tipped their head. “Am I reading this wrong?”
Colin almost reared back. Almost flattened his palm on Bishop’s chest and gave a little push. That’s certainly what he should’ve done.
“No, you’re not,” he said, too quietly, and swallowed to wet his rapidly drying throat. “But this is a terrible idea.”
The pair stood before each other, posturing like birds of prey or venomous snakes, two creatures unused to the idea of being known, or seen, or held. Colin peeled his tongue off the roof of his mouth, flicking his attention from Bishop’s face to their handsome hands, from their hands to their neck.Beautiful, he thought,and dangerous. When he met their eyes, they inched closer. Colin did nothing to stop them.
Bishop pulled the drawstring, loosening his sweatpants. “Yeah, I know,” they said, and dusted their mouth across his chin. The playfulness emptied, leaving their voice raw and hopeful. “C’mon, exorcist. Don’t make me beg.”
